


Somnolence

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Sleep is variable, comfort is not.





	Somnolence

You can’t control your sleeping mind, and that’s just a matter of indisputable fact. You can drill your waking thoughts, you can program a routine to _increase_ the chances in your favour, but you can never, truly, control the unconscious mind.

The closest she’s ever got is wearing her body out to the point of oblivion, and then hoping she doesn’t remember anything on waking. Or - if she does - that sleeping again will wipe the echoes from her mind. But even so, that can leave a sense of unease that permeates the day, like a wet sock inside a boot. The distant sensation of almost-knowing, that she’s never sure if _actually_ -knowing would help or not. Would it suddenly click, and the malaise would go? Or would it then hit her full force, and leave her even more distressed?

The nights get less troublesome when she’s not alone. She never expected she’d be capable of relaxing in another’s embrace, but somehow Kylo’s lips on her neck, and warmth over her back, rump, and legs is… soothing. She knows she’s not alone, she knows she’s… 

The nightmares do come less, but when they sneak through, they’re worse. Although she’ll never say it, she thinks it’s due to him. When he’s feeling more settled, she rarely wakes in the night. When he’s… struggling… either he doesn’t blanket her in safety, or he bleeds through. Phasma doesn’t understand the Force enough to tell the difference, but she does know that any number of bad nights are more than worth the wonderful ones. 

His face is lined with pain of his own when she startles upright, and the fact he doesn’t immediately move, too, tells her that he’s struggling. It’s distant sounds of screaming that she _can’t_ hear, but also can. Somewhere deep inside her mind, and not in the outside world. It’s the crushing terror of not being good enough, of… failing. It’s the troops she’s let down, let die. It’s… it’s…

She could dwell. She could reason her thoughts down. She could wake him, and ask him to talk her around, or distract her… but she never would. Her fears are her problem, not his. It is already hard enough to admit to herself that she isn’t what she projects for the world, and he _knows_. He knows, so she doesn’t need to say.

Instead, the Captain curls towards him, pushing her head under his chin. In his sleep, Kylo mutters nonsense words of encouragement, and his mouth and nose snuffle at her hair. Even asleep, he cares. 

Warm arms around her, and the ponderous, rhythmic movement of his breath. The way his closed eyes turn to her, tracking under the lids, his mind most likely pushing against hers where she can’t truly feel…

Kylo cares. Even asleep. Even when he can’t control it, or stop it. He cares.

She burrows in tighter, and hopes she remembers this in the morning, if nothing else. The sound of his lungs, the catch in his throat, the way their ankles touch. He smells familiar, like… home. She sinks fingers into his loose nightshirt and fights a yawn. 

It won’t be long. She’s already…


End file.
